


until we are lost

by abovetheruins



Series: bf!verse [4]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years he'd spent trying to keep it bottled up, trying to ignore it, and he'd finally fucking got it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	until we are lost

_I like you._

Fuck, he'd actually said it. Three years he'd spent trying to keep it bottled up, trying to ignore it, and he'd finally fucking got it _out_.

He hadn't been able to do anything else, not when he'd finally seen Archie. The younger boy had looked awful, face pale and drawn. Lupe had told him at the door how sick he'd been lately, how worried she was, that a trip to the hospital was imminent whether Archie liked it or not.

_"He's being stubborn,"_ she'd said - felt like hours ago now - leading him toward Archie's room. " _But he's not getting any better, and I'm worried._

So it'd been going on for a while now, apparently, had been a few weeks since Archie had first started complaining about his throat, since his voice had taken on that wet, raspy tone. Cook can hear it now, clear as a bell - the wheeze of the younger boy's breath, the way it rattles in his chest. It scares him, honestly - that thick, painful sound - but he just holds on tighter, hiding his face in the soft collar of Archie's pajama shirt.

Archie had been sick for _weeks_ , and Cook had been too fucking caught up in his own problems to even notice it.

_So fucking **stupid**_. How much of this could have been avoided if he'd just talked to Archie sooner, if he'd talked to him at all? Archie wasn't pushing him away, wasn't telling him to leave - wasn't doing any of the things Cook had feared he'd do if he ever found out. Archie was doing what Archie always did - he was _forgiving_.

And Cook would do whatever it took to be worthy of that - because right now? - right now he knows he's not.

-

It takes him a long time to pull himself together (he's sure Archie's shoulder must be falling asleep by now with how long Cook's had his head buried there). He's afraid though, of what comes next. Even if Archie forgives him for the last few weeks, for the way Cook's treated him (the way he's ignored him, avoided him)how is he supposed to act to that confession? Cook doesn't even know how he _expects_ Archie to act.

He thinks he's expecting Arch to just shrug it off, somehow, can even imagine how it will go. He'll pull away from Archie and get a fucking hold of himself, sit there while that awkward tension seeps into the room (because how can it not?) Archie will pick at his clothes, the blankets; he'll be nervous, unsure (and Cook will hate himself a little more for it; he's made Arch second-guess himself so much already). He thinks Archie will stammer out that he likes Cook, too (thinks his heart will fucking burst from the pressure, but - ) just not in _that_ way, not the way Cook wants. Maybe he'll say he's sorry that's it not -

_"Not what you want, Cook, but... We're still friends, aren't we? We can still be-?"_ And yeah, Cook thinks - even though he's not sure how he'll be able to handle it - they can still be friends. They can still try and build up their relationship into what it was (what they'd come so fucking close to losing) and leave it at that.

That's what he's expecting.

He's not expecting Archie to pull back first, to give Cook zero time to pull himself together before he's being yanked forward by Archie's hands, sure and strong and a little cold against his skin. He's not expecting the shock of Archie's lips against his cheek, the rapid rush of his breath so sudden and loud against the shell of his ear.

Cook's not expecting Arch to tell him, "I like you, too. _Cook_ , I... oh gosh, _I like you, too_ ," but he does. He _does_.

Cook freezes. "Archie, what- ?"

"I thought I'd be happy for you," Archie's saying, voice muffled and hoarse. Cook lays a hand on his shoulder and feels his heart plummet at how hot Arch is, how thin and reedy he sounds the longer he talks (but there's no way he can tell him to stop, not when Archie's telling him this). "When Drew told me about Kim I tried to be alright with it. I thought I was, but, um. When he told me you'd spent the summer with her, I wasn't- I didn't know why then, but I wasn't happy." Cook feels him draw in a deep breath, cough it out. "Y-you know why, don't you? You said, you said- "

"That the summer was ours," Cook finishes, half hoping that Arch will stop talking and half hoping that he never will (because hoarse as it is, ragged as it is, he hasn't talked to Archie like this in _weeks_ , hasn't had that luxury).

He feels Archie nod against his throat. "Yeah, that's, that's it. That's right." He pauses then, spends a few silent, charged minutes just breathing. Cook's finds some comfort in that, just listening to him (because fuck, how long had it been, really, since they'd been together like this? Since that first week of last summer, when Archie had come over to his house and told him he was leaving? Since Cook had hugged him goodbye on that last day, told Arch he'd be there when the younger boy got back?)

"...I thought I could share you with her." The admission is so quiet Cook has to strain his ears to hear it. "Even when you avoided me, I thought it was okay, that sooner or later we'd be alright and then... then I could share you with her. Fridays with the band, mornings in the car, all of it - I thought I could. But then I thought about sharing our summers, giving her that and-" Archie breaks off into a ragged cough, fist clenched against his chest. Cook panics a little, maneuvers his arm over Arch's shoulder to grab the glass of water on the nightstand and presses it to the younger boy's lips, wincing at every painful swallow.

"Arch..." He doesn't like the pallid look of Archie's face, thinks he's about ten seconds away from driving the boy to the nearest hospital himself. "You can stop, alright? You need to rest-"

"No, wait, just." Archie sets the now empty glass back on his nightstand, moves until he's up against the headboard, Totoro slumped over his bent knees and face pressed into the plush's worn gray fur. His face is flushed a bright, hot red. "I'm trying to- Cook, I'm trying to _tell_ you, and... it's not easy. I didn't know that I-" He breaks off and shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't know I liked you... like _that_ , like.. Well, I didn't know until you weren't there anymore, until I had to think about sharing you with someone else and I.. can't. I can't do it."

Cook barely remembers to breathe. "Do what, Archie?"

And finally ( _finally_ ) Archie looks at him, and the sight of his huge hazel eyes peeking over Totoro's drooping ears would be comical if not for what he's saying (Fuck, what he's _saying_ ).

"I can't share you, Cook. Not with her. Not... Not like that." Archie hides his face in Totoro's fur, nerves finally shot and shoulders trembling while Cook sits there like a fucking idiot, eyes wide and mouth gaping (because there's just no way, no _way_ , after three years of wanting this so much and the past few months spent screwing it up, there's no way that Arch is telling him this).

"Is that alright?" Archie's voice is hushed and breathy against his knees, muffled against the ragged stuffed animal clutched in his arms. "Is it o-okay, Cook, that I, um. Because you... you _like_ me, right? You s-still... Do you still-?"

Cook's across the bed in an instant, hands reaching out to draw Archie's arms away from his face, feeling hot and desperate and almost crazy (because fuck, if Archie still has to _ask_ him -)

"I do. _God_ , Arch." He's mumbling as he pulls Totoro from Archie's grasp, pressing in close, hands sliding rough and shaky around Arch's throat, up against his jaw so he can lift the other boy's face. And _god_ , when he finally meets Archie's eyes, Cook's the one who wants to hide away, wants to bury his face in his knees because there's no fucking way he deserves this -

Archie's face is flushed red, eyes wet and huge and Cook presses their foreheads together, has to close his eyes and just _breathe_ because they've never been this close, he's never had the chance to do this and he might as well be a fucking fifteen year old again, nothing's changed, nothing's different, he's never been able to stop what he feels for this boy and fuck if he's going to start trying now.

Their first kiss is barely there, barely more than a peck, Cook too strung tight and shaking with want that he's afraid to linger, afraid of pushing Archie too far (because he's never done this, Cook knows he hasn't, and maybe he should feel some sort of guilt for this, for being the first to do this to Archie or maybe just because he doesn't feel guilty at all). That first touch is almost too much, just that small taste of Archie's red mouth, his lips just as bitten-up soft as Cook's always tried not to imagine.

He has to keep moving after that, can't stay still, can't _stop_ , presses his lips to every bit of skin he can reach, to Archie's cheeks, his nose, his forehead. He lingers at the corner of Arch's mouth, breathing hard, his mouth feeling too dry and his tongue feeling too heavy. He's waiting - he's _forcing_ himself to wait - on some little sign that this is okay, this is alright, this is what Archie wants (he'll stop if it's not, knows it will kill him if he has to but he will, he'll stop-)

But then Archie makes a tiny, choked sound, this quiet, raspy almost-sob before he's turning his head, leaning into Cook and bridging that gap between them, doing what Cook had been too afraid to.

He can't help the groan that slips past his lips (hopes in some fuzzy part of his mind that Archie's parents are nowhere near their son's bedroom door) as they kiss, because _this_ , this is what he's been thinking of since he was fifteen years old, what he'd tried to forget about and replace but that hadn't worked, of course it hadn't fucking worked, there was no substitute for Arch's lips and Arch's tongue and the soft, fluttery little gasps he was trying so hard to hold back - there was just no substitute for _Archie_.

Cook wants to pull the covers back, wants to cover Archie's body with his own and kiss him for days, wants (god, he just fucking _wants_ ) to slide his fingers to the edge of Arch's soft, worn shirt, to glide his fingers up against Arch's back, press against that feverish skin.

But he doesn't, he holds himself back from that because this is enough, this is more than enough, after everything else just being close to Archie is more than he'd thought he'd ever get.

He's not sure how long they stay there, how long he's had Arch pressed up against the headboard, everything silent save for the sound of their lips meeting again and again (driving him _crazy_ , that wet, muffled noise), the rustle of blankets as they shift. It's only when he feels Archie's hands beginning to slack against his shirt (they'd been clenched there since that first frantic kiss, fingers curling and uncurling) that Cook finally pulls away (doesn't stop completely, draws it out as long as he can, quick open-mouthed kisses pressed to Archie's lips until he's finally able to pull off completely without feeling like he's about to explode).

"Can I stay, Archie?" His voice is almost too loud in the quiet room (everything is quiet, he realizes, the whole house had probably fallen asleep hours ago), but he doesn't want to leave, doesn't even think he can.

Doesn't look like he has to - Archie's grinning at him in a way Cook hasn't seen in what feels like years, soft and pure and - despite the paleness of his skin and the tired circles under his eyes - Archie looks like he's supposed to, like he used to, like he's finally happy.

"You can stay." Only his voice isn't as it should be, too raspy and hoarse with whatever sickness has gotten hold of him. Cook still doesn't like the sound of it, presses his fingers to Arch's throat as they lay back, both of them forced to curl in close because Arch's bed is just not as big as it used to be (but they're not complaining, and Cook grins at the thought of them sharing this bed on countless sleepovers over the years, unaware that they'd end up right back where they started way down the line).

_Tomorrow_ , he thinks, watching Archie pull the blankets up around them, curling his hand loosely in Cook's shirt and shyly leaning in until his head rests underneath Cook's chin. He'll get Arch to the doctor's office tomorrow, carry him out the door by force if he has to. He'll make up for lost time, for past mistakes, get Archie well again. Then he can work at fixing everything else.

-

He's woken in the middle of the night by Archie's coughing, almost shooting up in the bed at the sound of it - it's raw and painful in a way that scares him, and Archie's knuckles are bone white where they're clenched in the bedsheets, his back trembling with the effort of trying to force the cough _out_.

Any trace of sleep is gone from Cook as he scrambles out of the bed, hovering at Archie's shoulder, unsure of what he should do - nearly panic-stricken at the wet, hacking sound that fills the room. Archie's broken out into a sweat, throat straining, tears leaking from between his tightly closed eyes. He's trying to speak through it, voice so hoarse it's unrecognizable, whimpering, "Cook, I c-can't - I _can't_ -" before his cough overwhelms him again (Cook's heart stops at that, so harsh and sudden he feels dizzy with it because Archie can't fucking _breathe_ ).

"Alright, come on, Arch, hold on." He's mumbling as he wraps his arms around Archie's back, underneath his knees, dragging the blanket off the bed as he lifts the other boy into his arms. He wraps the sheet around Arch the best he can, struggling to keep him still as he does so, doesn't want to jostle him too much.

Arch curls into him, looking and feeling so damn small, coughs still wracking his body. They've gotten so loud that it would be impossible to expect the rest of the house to still be asleep - Cook can hear footsteps in the hallway, isn't surprised when Jeff and Lupe open Archie's bedroom door, looking frazzled and worried and rumpled in their nightclothes.

They take one look at Archie curled up miserable and sick in Cook's arms, Cook's own stricken face, and immediately jump into action.

Jeff heads out into the hallway - Cook can hear the muffled thumps and rustles as he searches for his shoes, the car keys - and Lupe lays her hand on Cook's arm, presses the other to her son's feverish brow, saying, "Come on, David, we'll take care of him," and leading him out of the bedroom, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers by the door before they all go outside.

Jeff's already in the front seat of the car, the engine running, and Lupe makes sure Cook and her son are settled into the back before sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up. Cook can hear her asking for Jeff's cell phone, dialing his mother - he can hear Beth's voice over the speaker loud and clear - and asking her to check in on the other children, that she'll call once they know anything.

Everything after that is white noise - if Jeff and Lupe speak at all, Cook doesn't hear them, so focused on Archie that he can't take in anything else. His coughing has subsided somewhat - nowhere near as unrelenting as it had been - but Archie's still trembling, sweat gleaming on his forehead and breath rushing past his lips in a dry wheeze. Cook doesn't want to crowd him, doesn't want to press in too close, but it's impossible to stop himself from pressing their cheeks together, bundling Archie as close to him as possible.

He mumbles nonsensical things to Arch the whole way to the hospital, doesn't remember half of the things he says, just has to keep talking, has to do whatever he can to get that miserable look off of Archie's face.

He doesn't know if it's successful, but Archie tries to smile at him, soft and shaky, and even that small thing makes him feel as though it helped.

-

Archie is taken out of his arms almost as soon as they cross the hospital's threshold. His cough had started up again as they'd been getting out of the car - something wet had soaked through Cook's shirt where Archie's mouth was pressed against it, and Cook had been too afraid to look down and see what it was - and he'd been rushed into the ER within minutes, leaving Cook and Lupe and Jeff just standing there, anxious and afraid and unknowing.

It's the worst feeling in the world, waiting. They're not the only ones in the waiting room, but Cook's never felt more alone in his life. Everything is too stark and white and _quiet_ , and he thinks he would prefer even the harsh, rattling wheeze of Arch's breath as it is now than to stay clustered away in this room, trying to distract himself with the hospital magazines piled on the end tables and pacing the tiles.

He doesn't know how Jeff and Lupe can stay so calm - they're sitting together in two of the corner chairs, talking quietly as they fill out the pile of forms the nurse at the front desk had pushed at them moments before - but they're not, Cook realizes, not really. Their hands are clasped together far too tightly to be comfortable, and Lupe's lips tremble every few minutes that go by without a word - Cook has to look away from them after a while, can't stand to see the drawn, worried frowns on their faces.

Almost an hour has past before Cook can't stand it any longer, steps outside for a moment feeling like his lungs are about to burst, too full of that stale, antiseptic hospital air. He breathes in deep once he's outside the doors, the night dark and cool - it's gotta be past midnight by now, he thinks, maybe almost one or two in the morning and he's wide awake, wondering how long it will be until the doctor gives them some fucking news.

He can't get that image out of his head, Archie doubled over and unable to breathe, knows that if he looks down at the collar of his shirt he's sure to see the blood Arch must have coughed up when they'd gotten there.

"Goddamn it." He thumps his fist into the wall behind him, hard enough to send a spike of sharp pain racing up his arm, lets his back slam against the concrete as he leans against the wall, feeling like he's about to jump out of his skin.

He hears a sharp ring and feels the front pocket of his jeans vibrate, curses in surprise - he'd forgotten about his cell phone, hadn't even taken it out before he'd fallen asleep in Archie's bed - It's Neal, asking about Archie. Cook thinks Andrew must have told their friend, probably overheard their mother talking to Lupe earlier. By now he's sure the entire neighborhood knows about Archie, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe, telling Neal he doesn't know anything, none of them do, and Neal must be able to tell how absolutely fucking freaked he is, because he just keeps talking - stupid things, bringing up school and how their next practice is going to go, and Cook almost chokes up as Neal tells him to bring Archie this time - "It's been too long since we've seen that kid, asshole."

Neal keeps him distracted for another half an hour, long enough so that when Cook hangs up he doesn't feel quite so stretched thin, doesn't feel like he's about to explode. He's able to walk back into the waiting room and sit down beside Lupe - her and Jeff are finished with the paperwork by now, leaning against each other and looking tired - and wait.

When a haggard looking man comes out of the back door with a white coat and a clipboard in his hand, Cook is the first one up, almost scrambling across the room in his haste to get to the man. Lupe and Jeff follow at a more sedate pace, but there's no mistaking the worry in their eyes, the tightly wound look on their faces.

The doctor is patient with them, kindly, looks as if he's been pulling a hard shift himself but talks them through it. Bronchitis, a bad case to start off with but worse because of how long Arch had gone without getting it checked out. "He's dehydrated and very weak, but we've given him an IV and medication to help with inflammation, and he's responding very well."

Cook feels as if the weight of the entire fucking world has been lifted from his shoulders, feels his legs trembling and has to force himself to keep standing because _god_ , Archie's okay. He's okay.

"Can we see him?" The question is out of his mouth without Cook being able to stop him, interrupting whatever the doctor was saying about what anti-inflammatory meds they've got Archie on.

"Yes, you're welcome to check in on him," the man says, "but he needs his rest, so try not to tax him. His voice is very weak - he'll need to go on vocal rest for a few days, until the swelling goes down. He'll also need to stay here overnight, but as long as he's doing well in the morning you're free to take him home and continue his recovery there."

"Thank you, Doctor." Jeff shakes the man's hand, wrapping his arm around Lupe's shoulders as they follow him down the corridor. Lupe's hand slips into Cook's own - startles him enough that he jumps, not expecting it - and shoots him a small, grateful smile as they head to Archie's room.

Cook squeezes her hand and smiles back.

-

"You really don't need to keep taking care of me." Archie's looking at him out of the corner of his eye, bundled up in one of Cook's hoodies in the passenger seat. The radios turned down low and the windows are cracked, and Cook's got one hand wrapped around Archie's on the younger boy's thigh.

Cook grins at him, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the boy across from him, squeezing his hand. "Says you," he teases, winking and chuckling at the blush that steals across Arch's cheeks. "I happen to _like_ taking care of you."

It's been a week since that run to the ER in the middle of the night, a week of Cook refusing to leave Archie's bedside for longer than he had to. He knows he probably drove Lupe and his own mother crazy, camping out in Arch's bedroom after school every day and checking in on him every morning - but they'd been more amused than anything else, he thinks, shaking their heads at him and clucking their tongues in mock-exasperation.

Arch had been too weak to do anything but sleep those first few days, waking long enough to take his meds and eat before he'd pass out again. He'd had the cough for a while after the hospital, but it'd tapered off as the week went on, and it'd never gotten as bad as that night, something Cook was immensely grateful for because he just could _not handle it_. Arch had been on strick vocal rest for the remainder of that week - Cook had went out and bought a white board and a rainbow pack of markers for him, pressing a hand over the other boy's mouth if he even tried to speak. Archie had endured this all with a smile, a sight that did more for Cook's heart than any other, and slowly - but surely - Arch had gotten better.

His voice was still a little weak, raspy and very soft. It hurt to speak too much, but that too was slowly getting better, and Cook couldn't help but love that Arch had to lean in close whenever he wanted to tell Cook something - a side effect of his illness that Cook felt no shame in taking complete and total advantage of.

"I haven't been over here in so long," Archie was saying, looking out the window as they turned into Neal's neighborhood. Cook felt a harsh, guilty tug at his heart at that - he knew Archie wasn't blaming him, just stating a fact, but it still hurt to think of all the ways in which he had tried to hard to alienate the boy from his life, how much of an asshole he had been simply because he couldn't face the truth that had been staring him in the face for the past three years.

He'd broken up with Kim in the whirlwind of that last week, had tried to be as consoling and reasonable as possible without giving everything away. She hadn't talked to him since and he was fine with that, knew that eventually she would be alright with it. He thinks they both knew it wouldn't have lasted.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat and wrapping his fingers more securely around Archie's. "The guys will be glad to see you. They haven't stopped bugging me about bringing you over for _weeks_."

"Really?" Archie's blush is visible in the bright lights of the streetlamps they pass, voice soft and raspy but stronger than yesterday, stronger than a week ago and getting stronger every day. Cook's heart fucking skyrockets. "Well, I'll be glad to see them, too." He looks up at Cook from beneath his lashes - the trick he'd learned and taken advantage of since he'd first tried it days ago, knows it makes Cook's breath catch in his throat - and asks shyly, "Will you play something for me?"

And Cook wants to say that he'd play anything for him, that he'd _do_ anything for him, that's he won't stop trying to make up for the last few months, that he won't stop taking care of him until Archie's voice is strong and clear again and then not even after that, that he loves him and probably has ever since he was fifteen years old, maybe even ever since that first day he'd moved in to the house next door.

But that's too much and too soon and altogether not enough, so instead Cook presses a tiny, warm kiss to Archie's hand, and says, "Sure, Arch. I'll play something for you."


End file.
